Between Scylla and Charybdis
by Triberre
Summary: Divergence. AU. A moment in the past, shaping the future, and an action taken in the present, creating her path. The goal of her life will lay at the end of a pathway between a rock and a hard place. How have her actions touched upon it? Shegocentric.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** This show and its characters do not belong to me.

_Just to let you people know ahead of time, I am indeed Revsboi. Just had a change of name done, cause I got bored of my previous one._

**_Violence (graphic), Mature Situations, Vulgar Language. Rated M._**

**Between Scylla and Charybdis**

_By: Triberre_

_To think or to act, to approve or to accept, to inquire or to demand._

**Dear Life, New Beginnings**

_Dear Diary,_

_I swear this is going to be the last time I write to you. God it pisses me off that I can't just burn you right now and not give a rats ass I just did, it really, really does...but I guess that doesn't matter much in the end, does it? I'll just have to settle on ignoring you for now then..._

_Today I finally got a job. Some blue skinned wacko named Doctor Drakken hired me; didn't really tell me why he was looking for a bodyguard at first during the interview, but it wasn't exactly Hard to figure it out when he finally brought me to his 'lair'._

_I honestly thought I was going to blow my fucking lid at the end of the day. If it wasn't him complaining to me how he wasn't respected enough for his genius and talking about the 'brilliance' that is outsourcing, he was trying to sell to me some harebrained scheme of how he was going to conquer and rule the world after wiping 'that smug red-heads face' off the Earth. I didn't even bother asking the idiot who he was talking about after he started crying like a baby because he smacked his toe against a cement column. _

_Only a day in and I already feel like an over clocked factory worker with all that whining, constant tinkering, muttering, the damn sink faucet dripping even though he seems to be able to build How Many_ _death rays?_

_I thought I left all the stupidity when I quit that gig as a superhero...guess I gave too much credit to the baddies._

_But it's not so bad, I think. At least I'm actually getting paid for this and the money I've been offered is more than enough to keep me around for a while. Sure, might be boring sitting around and dealing with his annoying rambling but it seems comfy enough around here. Never knew people completely off their rocker knew anything about good living arrangements._

_Hell if that'll be enough to make me do any handiwork, though._

_Well whatever, I can always get a new contract if this one doesn't work out. Not as if the worlds supply of deranged lunatics is going to go dry anytime soon._

_Ugh...I really don't want to write this...but I..._

_Never mind, Dr. D's calling. I'll finish this later._

Closing the book with a sigh and checking that the page is marked, she pulls away from the desk and stares.

She really hates that book, she decides. It's the only part of her life that has survived over the past years since she's left _them_ other than the green and black leotard she wears. She's already burnt everything else that is even slightly linked to her former life (everything that she knows of) because she dislikes her past, it having never been the most accepting place for her.

Maybe she could find that acceptance she wants as a full-fledged super villain instead of a hero?

She gets up and discards the book. Putting it into a wooden case, she locks it and places it under several books within a drawer beside her bed. She locks the drawer, leaves the room and locks it. She knows she's being ridiculous with her privacy, but she doesn't care. If the way she's been living over the past four years shows anything about her at all, it's the fact that it's nothing like the way she lived before she was sixteen.

Turning on her heel, she leaves down the corridor. Not sparing so much as a glance or care towards the features of the hall, the pictures on the wall, or any bit of the abode she might as well call home at all. She really couldn't give less of a damn about her environment or the man. Her new try at a higher level of villainy isn't to make friends, isn't to pull up a picket and claim some land for herself. She's here to send a message, one that can heal her wounds from _that_ past with the wounds it will inflict on _them_ with the news. She only hopes that this news reaches them as quickly as possible, she _wishes _it reaches them as quickly as possible. Her fulfillment coincides with the possibility that when it happens (and it _will_ happen), they cry the same tears they've made her cry.

She hates them. She really fucking does.

"Shego!" Drakken calls, probably eager to get started with the plan he's been working on. Not that she knows exactly what he feels yet since she's just started working for him, but she moves forward and towards her employers' voice.

Stepping into the large laboratory type area, Shego looks at the blue skinned man standing by a table in the middle of the room tapping his foot impatiently. She had wondered at first about what could have brought that change upon him, having found a sort of kinship and connection with the discolored man because of her own odd coloration. She wondered what kind of life he's led and how he's had to lead it because of this deformity, as others label it, because she herself knows the feeling of people looking down at you with not so much more reasoning other than the skin tone you have. Of course she had been granted much more than that, not just the odd skin tone, but the similarity in itself and all the trouble it brought her in the past was enough to pull her to this particular madman for whatever comfort it could bring.

Maybe she shouldn't bother with trying to figure it out actually. She had already let it influence her choice of employer.

The Doctor spots her as she steps out further onto the metal grating, alerting him to her presence. "Finally you're here! What took you so long? I'm going to be the one paying you, you know!" he babbles, obviously frustrated by the attitude she's showing the first day on the job. She worries for a moment, concerned she might have actually ruptured something. Sooner rather than later she realizes that her former life and current resume can get her a job with any one of the multitudes of villains in the world and there aren't much people like her in turn, so she ignores him plainly and obviously. She knows she's going to have fun with this guy, he reminds her way too much of a jack-in-the-box…except with emotions.

Expectedly, he bites at her gestures with a hilarious expression on his face. She tries terribly to not laugh at it, and luckily she's learned to be in control enough to prevent that certain action from happening. She doesn't know how this man works, and she doesn't anything about his standing in the Mad Scientism Guild, not to mention his scientific tendencies themselves.

Realizing his tantrum hasn't quelled yet, she pushes him along with a snappy remark. It was getting boring to her, all of a sudden.

And so, he starts his explanation, which seems more like a rhetoric ramble to her if anything. She listens to it, of course, because as she understands, or doesn't understand, there is little she can predict of his tendencies or leanings, other than that he's already come off as a big baby to her. She doesn't want him to already spread inaccuracies about her before letting her the chance of proving herself in the big leagues, not only to him, but also proving to the rest of the villains that want her. Besides, she's hardly sure those clowns back at home have gotten the message yet.

_Whoops. Getting thoughtful again._ Shego cringes at the possible repercussions that can come if he's noticed that she's not really in her right mind set today.

Looking around the room it doesn't take her long to spot the doctor who, unexpectedly, isn't doing what she thought he would–which is throw a tantrum–but instead is inquisitively staring at her with a simple, possibly morbid, curiosity. She of course–having lost most of the apprehension at losing her job at the look—barks at him to stop staring at her like that.

A look of outrage passes over his features momentarily, giving off the impression to her that he's completely infuriated by her treating him like nothing more than a chore. Maybe she's pushing it a little now, it's obvious he's either going to pout like a baby or do something far more drastic, but she's not going to apologize. She never apologizes. So instead, she lights up her plasma powers and "persuades" him to move on with the arrangements.

For the rest of his preparations, she rests herself against the wall and dozes off.

----------

Word spreads fast in Global Justice.

Maybe too fast.

Or at least Betty Director thinks that's the case. It's been only been an hour since one of the biggest burglaries she's seen in her career. Not since Miranda Bones' 1987 Heist did she see and hear and absorb all of the actions and temperamental attitudes in the GJ headquarters like she has to right now. People running around, seemingly disorderly but simply in an organized panic; Judges running around, cohorts of theirs all about and on top of _everything _because this kind of theft has been worked on endlessly towards not being allowed to happen, so it doesn't make sense that it just _did_.

It's bad enough that she's the one forced to deal with all the confusion and chaos even though she's hardly the person who does the most important work, but now she just _has_ to deal with a caller. A central figurehead "officially" she is, but she can at least have some of the work handled off to the ones working behind the frontline. _Stupid bureaucrats_, she complains mentally. "Yes, hello?" she asks into the wireless satellite phone.

"Director?" asks a baritone voice from over the line.

She cringes at who she hears it to be. "Yes, sir. Dr. Betty Director, reporting for duty sir!" She hates having to reply like that.

Oddly, she hears voices over the phone connection. That's an anomaly in the normal. "We need you to take a call for us. Somehow, a group of superhero's know who it is that pulled the stunt," explains the man, already dialing a series of numbers from what she can hear.

"Sir—Sir! God-dammit, he never explains anything." She waits a few moments, listening on the static sounds of a change in connection as she moves to a quieter area of the GJ Headquarters. As she reaches the dormitory section, the static drops, instead now replaced with the far more annoying voice of a male yelling at someone else.

"This is Dr. Director of Global Justice," she says, not waiting for the arguing to finish. She's too annoyed for that. "I was told you know who it is that's behind this crisis."

Moments of silence then follow, which is particularly odd from her position. With the exception of the ongoing continuity of background noises within GJ, the yelling and cursing over the line seemed far too frantic to calm down so easily.

"Dr. Director, this is Hego of Go City's crime fighting force, Team Go. We do, indeed, have the name of who it is that caused this uproarious scandal on the world plateau, however we simply refuse to believe-!"

A second male voice cuts in. "Oh, shut it Hego! Stop with your damn self-righteous act and _believe reality_!" Betty then begins to hear loud crashes and yells again over the phone line. What in the world is up with these people? She assumes whoever it is that caused this raise of alarm is close to them, for she doubts they would hide it otherwise. A decisive course of action plans out in her mind, and she decides that these superheros will need to be taken in for questioning.

A minute passes by, and soon she hears a third male voice speak into the phone. "Hello, GJ person?"

"Yes, hello, who is speaking now?" she asks, more as a formality than anything. She does admit that it's also to at least attempt to calm down the one speaking into the phone now.

"It's Wego, another part of Team Go," she then hears an explosion. "How about we just tell you who did it and get on our way before our base is destroyed, okay?"

"Yes, that's fine." 

"It was our sister, Shego."

----------

_A petite raven haired girl finds herself both flustered and annoyed as she stands at the bottom of the largest hill, in the largest park of Go City. Not for much of a reason in particular other than having been pulled there with not so much as a chance to rest by the boy she was currently glaring at._

"_Sis! Come on, hurry up!" shouts the little boy from halfway or so up the hill, having left the girl behind in his impatience. This however, only seems to push the girl further into her irritation as she adds a childish pout and arm cross to her stance._

_As the two children surrounded themselves in the comforts of their own world, free of the daily grind that all the adults had to do, their little shouting and glaring game has taken on the interest of many observers. Some far more caring and optimistic, others far more realistic and neutral, as well as the pessimistic, the trashy, the morally bankrupt, the social pariahs, the attention seekers…it would have been odd to see all these people from the many different walkways of life all staring at the same spot, the same people, simple children, if they paid attention to each other instead. But, they didn't._

_Soon enough though, the trance is broken. The silent agreement of time to let itself freeze and allow such provoking of varying thoughtfulness is brought to an end with the realization that time shouldn't freeze, that the world still needs to be run with the daily grind of life. So the people move on back to their activities._

_But the boy and the girl are still there. Still stuck in their own world, their own time and their own unique future._

_The boy himself, a spitting image of his father when he was his age, just understands that the girl isn't going to be giving in anytime soon. For a normal boy he would just ignore her, even if she is a sister, going to see what he came here to see instead. With the lessons he's been taught ever since being able to walk and talk though, he's left standing there half way up a hill, conflicting internally. His mind has pitted the mind of a child, still reflecting his outer visage, against the thought patterns of a man, which his brain is yet incapable of even understanding._

_To the girl...the whole situation is a problem bothering her to the core. Not the tall hill which from her perspective is a steep mountain, not the dark which is all consuming as the minutes pass by, not even the off chance that she may slip while climbing it because of the dew starting to build up on the ground. She doesn't care about these things actually, she enjoys testing herself, always has. It's something that her parents haven't taken away from her yet, but she doesn't realize that they ever tried to take anything away with her young nine year old mind. The thing is, even with the young mind she's able to understand the feeling inside of her. She understands it's nothing good; that she is, and should be frightened of it and it has something to do with that hill. An odd feeling. _

_The young girls mind can't stay focused for long though. With both the calls of her brother telling her to come up, accompanied by her small fear from the thoughts, she forgets the annoyance she felt from earlier and runs her way up the hill, just wanting a companion now._

_Unfortunately, in her rush the young girl doesn't notice the small boulder protruding out of the ground laying on the path she's taken. She gasps as her sandal clad foot impacts and she soon is busy attempting not to inhale any of the muddy dirt on her face._

_Suddenly she can see the feet of her brother in front of her, despite spitting and coughing the dirt away from her nose and mouth. He stands there, she can tell, and she knows he looks onto her with remorse and pity._

_He, however, begins to feel a spreading confusion as he hears the sobs start to come. Over the years, he's been trained into being a gentleman and this being no exception he soon pulls his sister up from the ground and sits her down. As he does this though, his mind is in more places than he can possibly manage. It's because of his young mind when he suddenly begins to yearn for the top of the hill, because he's anxious and happy and scared of missing the meteor storm all the same. But he has the demeanor of a gentleman, and he can't possibly leave the side of a estranged woman in need, let alone his sister who's crying because it hurts._

_For the sister, she waits a few more seconds after he let's go to regain herself. It did hurt and she is glad that her brother is there for her when she needs him, even if it does make her feel weak. Looking up, however, she sees that he's not there. Instead, after a bit of searching, she finds him already running towards the top of the hill. _

_Without her._

_In the end, after getting up and wiping the remaining tears away she is too hurt to bother going after him and leaves, going back to the bench where they stayed waiting for the event to start. It wasn't ever her intention to come here for the light show. Sure, she thought it would be pretty, but she just came to spend time with one of the only people that have ever 'seen' her. Yet, now, he chose to rather see that meteor storm thingy than spend time with her, so why should she even bother going to him?_

_When he eventually gets back spraying spittle everywhere with his excited and awed screams and shouts, he begins to tell her how cool it was and asks her what she thought of it. When she tells him off and says she didn't see all because of him, after he left her alone on the ground he gets mad himself and yells at her, telling her that she's selfish, trying to always put herself above his fun._

_And then she breaks down, that comment hitting too close, too hard to what she's afraid of, for her to be able to keep even her angry mask in place._

_He doesn't understand what she's so sad about, but it soon doesn't matter either because even if he's mad that she wanted to make him miss something so awesome he still isn't able to take the sight of his only sister so panicked and sad._

_The boy then apologizes, moments later, for whatever it is that he just said. He hasn't had the time to learn what's right and wrong, what's good and bad and what the difference is from what his father wants and what life truly entails. Built into him have been the niceties, the actions he should take and the way he should treat people in accordance to the way his father thinks, the way his father wants him. Then there's the way he's been learning, with experiences that his short life has been through._

_He hasn't been told any better and which way is right. He's having his self split in two and built separately._

_But she's still nice, and she knows her brother is having a difficult time so she forgives him._

_He's grateful, and he's wants to make up for deserting her earlier, so he sits down and plays the nice brother role which he still hasn't mixed up with another. Still excited from the stars falling, he grins and scrunches up his face in thought, trying to find the best way to explain what he felt and thought as he watched the shining sky. It's difficult for him, having never been the brightest boy in class as well as being very young, however when he remembers, he looks into the emerald eyes of his sister, whose own seem to be increasingly passionate, fierce and loyal. He's taken aback, for a moment, with how strong the blaze is in her heart and how it warms him._

_But soon enough, he breaks the intense stare and smiles happily again as he starts telling her all about how he felt a weird tug inside of him as he looked at all of the falling star. How watching the sky fall made him feel confused, but right...in the end._

"_Oh?" She replies, genuinely intrigued and glad that they're okay. _

"_Yeah...Sis, did I ever tell you how much I want to become a superhero?" he asks, but seems to be speaking rhetorically now. "Did I ever tell you how much it would mean to me to live my life protecting others from villainy and all that?" _

_She shakes her head, not understanding what he's trying to say and why she's receiving the same odd feeling from earlier. _

"_It's my dream; it's what I want to do. Father has told me that he 'greatly supports my prerogative on the matter'...err, whatever that means, and I want you to know that if you ever, you know, have a dream I'll be there to help" the brother finishes grinning and throws his arm over the sisters shoulder, pulling her into a half hug to emphasize his point more._

_The girl looks at her brother just for a second; at his closed eyes, his brown hair so akin to her fathers shape and style and at his burliness even at so young an age…and she shivers._

----------

There was always that question whenever she went to one of these 'thieves only' parties she had started being invited to.

'Why is it that you wear green when you're a thief, why not entirely black?' It's what they all ask, wanting to know how she does what she does even in such an eye catching ensemble. She responds to it with a quirk of the brow, at least the first dozen times. After a while it becomes exceedingly too obvious to Shego the true purpose of the question because if it isn't a jealous thief that has no doubt heard of her reputation or a terrified rich CEO afraid that they might be the next target victim (even though they themselves are currently residing in a party and building built specifically _for_ thieves), then it was just another evildoer with a bad track record.

She had found it amusing at first, when she quickly found out what the true intentions behind the falsified, casual conversation and questions that were posed meant. They were all afraid that they were going to lose something and she was going to get everything, so they were trying to find something wrong with her, something they could spread to knock her off the rapidly rising pedestal she placed herself on. Soon enough however, it didn't do anything for her. All it did was serve as further petulance and proof that the villain community is not what she thought it was going to be.

She leans back, gently pushing herself against the corner wall which conveniently has a nice view over the entire proximity of the banquet hall. It was also a quick lesson learned for her that the most frequent target of an experienced thief was, unexpectedly, other thieves. She had found it odd that instead of working together to gain a better leverage when dealing with the law enforcement or other such vigilantes, they choose to take what other thieves have taken and make enemies out of each other, the ones that should rightly be colleagues and allies. In truth, she _still_ doesn't really understand _why_ they do it. She can wrap her mind around the base reasoning for such–which is incredibly stupid by the way–but it strikes her as somewhat counterproductive seeing that in the end they make enemies out of the enemies, enemies and that leaves no room for friends that would in turn...oh, whatever.

Yeah, you get it. Isn't it _really_ _smart_?

She snorts.

Her muscles tense as a heavy figure presses himself against the wall she's leaning on. All thoughts gone for the moment she waits for whatever move the hulking man is readying himself for with a possible counter and stratagem. She knows this isn't who she's waiting for. She also knows that she can't trust him yet until it's proven he's not there for her. A few minutes pass with no incident and she glances towards the face of the man. Suddenly she realizes he's paying attention to anything _but_ her.

Shego chuckles quietly to herself as she picks up a glass of gin and tonic from the passing waiter. At times it's good to be slightly paranoid, especially at parties like these where everyone around you could be an enemy if they wanted to be. _Though_, she thinks, _it's not really all that threatening, as it was in the beginning..._

She swishes the glass, watching as the drink inside turns into a mini cyclone.

It was a small wonderment for her at first after learning the eccentricities, deviousness (though at times she doesn't know if she should be calling it that) and perfidious nature of the villain community, that they are as collective and tight knit as they are. Even though, with it being that way, it had helped her speed up with getting into the 'business' (because even with her past as a superhero she still isn't well known in other parts of the world) it never helps her feel any less bewildered when these 'villain get togethers' always seem like far less of an assemblage to her and far more like a neatly amalgamated cluster fuck. Truthfully, she questions the sanity of everyone that go to these events, knowing that _they_ know the tendencies of their peers and still come. Still does, actually, not for the same reasons however.

What prevents the evildoers, the felons and the fugitives from attacking each other at these meetings seems to be a series of unsaid, yet 'official' rules.

The thought of something like that is laughable. In fact, it's so funny she does laugh. Right now.

Do they actually let themselves be delusional enough to think that hanging _rules_ above the heads of the types of people whose _principals _are to take what they want when they want to, or in some other cases conquer the world or a political faction (it was all relative anyways), can be enough to enforce some kind of truce? Nowhere in her mind though does Shego entertain ignorance on the matter. She knows, of course, this reasoning and that's why it's so funny. Tell an evildoer that they are to be friendly, truthful and have a bunch of morals for the night to make the atmosphere comfortable and expect them to stay that way? Hah!

Well...it does make sense in some ways, but, she is only willing to let that sit because of the fact that the convicted—she laughs at the irony of her using that word—are excommunicated, marked as a target/traitor and trapped in a building filled to the brink with hired goons and _other_ criminals that actually stay kosher.

Too bad she isn't petty. Could prove fun to try outrunning something other than GJ agents and federal patrols.

Shego growls as her hand lowers the bitter drink from her lips. This waiting is starting to annoy her and the constant reminiscing of how totally _naive_ she was when she first entered the fray isn't helping, at all.

She moves her feet slightly, shifting in a motion that further aggravates her positioning. Her body, tired of enduring the same stance, throws her into a self-war, which she stubbornly fights, not wanting to lose the best vantage point for scouting the fanciful ballroom. Seconds extending into minutes, minutes accumulating even quicker and she barely restrains the will to scream and kick over a table. Two hours of waiting since getting here and still the bastards a no show. That or she just hasn't spotted him...

Deciding that she rather relax at the bar with a shot of rum than wait for a man that may not even show in the end, she starts deftly weaving her way through the crowd. On the way, she rids herself of some frustrations by deriding some pleasure in entangling herself with a young, intimate couple. Shego doesn't care much for any repercussions that can happen because she's skilled enough to handle most. She's also well known enough to instill fear and they seem to understand who she is and what she is capable of. Or at least she figures that, when their rage subsides from a smoldering flame to a barely flickering ember as they catch sight of her smirking down at them with the champagne bottle in her hand. But, as much as anything else, she only does this as a freedom from her boredom and irritation, so soon enough she has her sights on the goal that was first in mind.

Her slim hands move, gripping the cuff of the leather jacket being worn by some Hell's Advocate wannabe sitting at the closest bar pedestal to them. Their motions are fast, for before the seated man even _feels_ it happening he is thrown from the counter several feet into the moving crowd opposite the counter as the usurper claims their take. The group in passing doesn't even blink at the exchange nor lose stride, unless having been in the path of the throwee, and the others residing at the bar just take a look at the person causing all the commotion, who herself smiles sultrily as half the men have a comedic double take of her figure. The other men that don't have any motor abilities left, the ones who are too drunk to know any better—they start planning on approaching the gorgeous and provocatively dressed woman now 'joining' them.

There is always something intoxicating for Shego whenever she has this effect on men and woman alike. The betterment and empowering feel of making some men beg and others chase. Or even their counterparts, the women who are jealous of her youth and beauty, wanting nothing more than to tear her a new one so they can lord something over her. She always receives those contemptuous stares from almost all the old, depressed widows or miserable whores; the obese sacks of shit or the toothpick's that are labeled truthfully as 'Atkins bitch' because they all want her body for whatever reason is deservedly theirs in mind. As for herself, though? She got the chance to laugh out loud at how pathetic everyone really is compared to her.

Oh, she knows she's a bitch. To get anywhere with her a person needs to earn her respect. Something that bastard whose making her wait right now is not only losing, but also having drop down lower than negative. She waits for _no one_. They all wait for _her_.

In one fluid motion she seats herself at the now unoccupied stool and taps the table once, and hard. A bartender clothed in regular dress apparel and a vest comes over to her, "Que puis-je vous offrir, Mademoiselle?" asks the bartender, in Paris' native language, and Shego smiles to herself, knowing that she understood that. Being a skilled linguist is one of the more important parts of being a world scouring thief. It's also a skill she finds herself particularly fond and prideful of.

After all, life just gets _so much_ _easier_ when you have several dozen countries between four different continents you can hide out and live in for an extended period of time with no barriers preventing you from going on with your daily lifestyle.

"Creme de cacao, and keep it where I can see it," is the curt, slightly threatening reply given. She knows he understood her as well and she ignores any provoked response given to the blatant mistrust covering both the words and the tone lining them. For this particular case it was probably unnecessary, but it is a habit she's included in her day by day dealings; one she's not keen on dropping anytime soon.

Her gaze doesn't waver as she keeps her deep, forest green eyes transfixed on the mans hands; following them, readying herself for any sudden motions or thrusts. Relaxation only comes when the snifter is placed on the counter top in front of her, with no suspicious actions taken during the entire process. Paranoiac? Yes, indefinitely. Mild paranoia can be a good thing though. Society makes you funny that way.

Keeping the drink out in front of himself by a foot, the bartender brings the pear shaped cup over to Shego, placing it quickly in front of her and leaving without another word. Even with the straight forward, as well as – possibly – understanding gestures she still checks the cup for any soluble substances that could have been dropped in. Not finding anything out of the ordinary, her guard drops and she holds the cup to her face.

She lets her lips dance around the edge of the glass, pausing only long enough to inhale the intoxicating aroma wafting upwards. It brings a delicate scent of cocoa tinged with the bitter aspect of alcohol, and she lets the sweet smell wash some of her tension away. She sighs, pleasantly, and considers the dark beverage. The 'crème de cacao' was the first alcoholic drink she was introduced to, and, coincidentally, it was also the first she drank under _that_ woman's tutelage. Her mouth curls into the first genuine, albeit reluctant smile of the night at the memory.

_She's tired. Dead tired. In fact, words wouldn't be able to describe the feeling all the bruised bones and wearied muscles are having over her current frame of mind. Memories don't even stray the edges of her thoughts about a time she was this weary and her grasp over emotional control has been slipping for hours now._

"_Come on, sit up! Stop cursin' an' get your ass up on this here stool, hun!" a voice that oddly resembles a one, self proclaimed, 'redneck pseudo-mother' of hers chastises. The woman starts pulling her by the white scruff of the training suit she was given when all this shit started._

_She growls. Just growls actually. Because even her esophagus is sore from all the screaming she did because of the mind numbing pain. This only annoys her more however, and she wants to see red but can't, her mind being just as exhausted as her body. Death. She wishes death upon this woman and her life._

_Before even being given the time to start pulling herself up, the raven haired girl is grabbed roughly and shoved face first into the white and black leather couch. "I tol' yah to, GET UP!" And her body creaks, seemingly making sounds one would expect an old abandoned windmill to make after years of rusting and weather wear._

"_Hrrrfarrmm." Her head is buried in the cool, soft pillows that haven't been used in days. She wants to sleep. Why won't the damn woman let her sleep? Groaning on unintelligibly into one of the fuzzy squares arranged disjointedly among the living rooms furnishings, she readies a protest as she's suddenly grabbed and pulled into a sitting position. Her mouth is filled with a rod like shape cutting it off before she can let it loose._

"_If yah dun get movin' soon, I'm gonna make yah gag on this here dildo, girly." Even with the knowledge of what's in her mouth she doesn't care. She can't care because it's taking all her mental effort to even hold onto her anger. Feeling the unwanted, foreign object finally pulled out of her mouth, Shego feels something a lot smoother, with a far more pleasant smell to it, placed against her lips._

"_Congratulations, hunny! You passed today withou' dyin! Now, drink tha' up. I know how much you like chocolate, so I thought I'd give yah your first dose of alcohol, with a lil mo' novelty to it." The woman says, and she can just feel the grin plastered on that smug face right now as her hand wraps itself around the glasses base, holding on to it with the few ounces of strength she can muster. She is thirsty and parched and the fact that this'll be her inauguration to alcohol hasn't yet registered to her. _

_As she sets her lips on the tip of the cup, the woman's last whisper doesn't go unheard as the sitting girl knows she would like to think. "Trus' me hun, you'll be needin' that stuff..."_

With the memory consummating and the imagery flashback leaving, the smile that was formerly neutral and possibly even content dips into something darker._ That woman is **so** **dead** when I find her._

That thought isn't anything new or worthwhile to think about though. She knows she's spent more than enough time thinking out a suitable way of getting back at the bitch, enough that even if she was on a particularly good sadistic streak she wouldn't be capable of adding anything new to the list of tortures she has already planned out in welcome. She takes a moment to consider that and amends it soon after. _Okay, maybe I'm not actually into the whole torture thing. Doesn't mean I can't knock her off that mile high platform she's put herself on..._

She puts a halt to her thoughts as a figure sets itself down in the empty seat beside hers. With the large shadow and broad build, even a small glance from the corner of her eyes can tell that it's a man. This realization sends signals off for her, making her lips curl into a trademark smirk. There are only two reasons she can think of that a man would want to sit beside her after the incident earlier and she's placing a bet that it's the one she likes.

Her head turns to see the man she's been waiting on, ordering a drink from the bartender. The mans posture is loose, as she knows him well enough to tell the slight difference he shows as his muscles unwind and relax. As almost an afterthought she notes that his breathing, even though he's trying to hide it, is erratic, and his suit looks rumpled and messy, as if he had been doing something strenuous earlier..._Interesting_... "Having a rough night?"

He looks uneasily towards her. The question, as she knows his past experiences with her have told him before, is not what it's being played out to be. She sees his body shift slightly to the left, "Eh, you can say that," but even as the conversational tone and casual words slip his lips, she can tell easily that he's nervous. If it's because of the way she's ravaging his body with her eyes, obviously not even pretending to focus on his response or the knowledge that the reasoning for the arousing action isn't what she's making it out to be, she doesn't know or care.

She smirks at him when his drink comes in, "Eighty percent _Palinka_? You want to get sloshed that badly?" Shego asks playfully. It's a question specifically designed to draw an answer, but it's obvious that her mind isn't concentrating on the already odd conversation. He can see by the way her body rearranges itself, opening up the posture more, which conveniently allows him a full view of her sizable bust positioned ever so slightly with the help of her right forearm to make it as appealingly large as possible. All the while, the rest of her body is twisting and stretching, taking full advantage of her clothing choice by letting every small movement go noticed as her muscles ripple underneath the skintight leotard.

Before letting him have any chance to prepare himself, she knocks the man out of his seat with a clean uppercut to the jaw.

Shego scowls down at him from her seat, feeling no remorse or pity for the action. "You made me fucking wait _two hours_, for your sorry ass, Dex. Tell me a reason why I shouldn't beat you right here, right no-..."

"Oh, God! My fucking jaw! Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn! Shit, I think it's broken! God _dammit_, you didn't have to hit me _that_ _hard._ God my NOSE-"

"SHUT UP!" Her chest heaves with the exertion the yell held, the building agrees too with the reverberating echoes throughout its structure. She's glad to note, even with the burning sensation in her chest as well as the vibrating feel pulsating in her throat, that the desired effect with the yell is gained. "Good, now stop whimpering pathetically and get up." She smiles, "Be a _man_, Dex."

Shego can see Dex glare at her because of the 'below the belt comment' as he would always say her sarcasm is, and she smirks sardonically at him as he picks himself off the ground. She herself wants to be outright laughing at the moment, but her utter annoyance at him is preventing her. That isn't going to stop her enjoyment though, she's having a blast with watching every second of this, no matter how insipid the action is. It's been dulled over the multitudes of times he's been humiliated, like such, by her, the few friends she has, her informants, her employers, _his _informants...it normally isn't even enough to get her to chuckle anymore.

Normally, that is.

_It's fucking France and I'm stuck waiting at this drab party. He made Me_ _wait and I could have been Shopping! _The thief pauses to consider that thought, _or stealing_. As she scans her eyes over the bumbling movements of the man, she can't help but feel the beginning pulls of guilt. She fights them of course, not bothering to give in to the voice that says she just went a little too far when he's supposedly running an errand for her. She gripes and battles with the argument that he's just wasting time being stupid like usual and he has no good news whatsoever, and it'll prove she's right, that the voice is wrong, and then everything will be all well.

Looking on at the pitiful attempts of the man to steady himself, she sighs knowing that whatever chances she may have had to play around with him have just been completely quashed. _When did I ever get soft for this idiot? _

She walks over to him, grabs him by the shirt and yanks him up. "I told you to get yourself up, Dex. You're making a fool of yourself," she soon leaves, and pretends to not think on how her act can be taken as one out of kindness. It would ruin her.

Shego sits down at the countertop table. It's starting to irritate her how the big dummy is standing there looking at her as if she's grown a larger ass. He's being way too obvious about it. _Why did I even bother helping him again?_ She asks herself. It doesn't fit, she's known him for ages and she's never felt anything even resembling a guilt trip with all of the things she's done to him before. It bothers her because she's also known people who have suddenly gotten in the tempo of showing sympathy, mercy, and then dying, retiring, or being left in the dust trail. She should know because she….

Dex finally decides to sit beside her at that point, cutting off her thoughts. Wiping the blood off his black suits sleeve, he quickly fumbles for his drink, and soon takes a sip. He's not stupid after all, it seems. It's a given that she didn't like doing that, and hopefully he's not planning on pushing her good natured display—for even a moment—by taking his sweet time and making her wait. She still doesn't understand why she helped this buffoon earlier. She sees him slide a look to her with a smile in place, and she scowls at it more-so than at him.

He shakes his head soon after, scowling himself now. "I've booked an appointment for you," he says, seemingly deciding that cutting to the chase would smooth this meeting out better for both of them. "It's the one you said you would like." He pauses, "The one with my father I mean."

Shego arches a fashionably trimmed eyebrow, amused with the businesslike, curt attitude he's trying to impersonate. She shifts her position slightly, trying to get a better look at what he's pulling. It takes a whole three seconds for her to smirk at him, deciding he's still an idiot. "Alright then, doofus. Lay what you got on me," She arcs her back, popping a few joints in the process. "I'm starting to get tired of this place, plus my back is _killing_ me."

He continues with an easy smile slipping onto his face. "My father told me he was looking for a skillful bodyguard a week ago. To be more specific, he told me that he wanted _you,_" he blinks when he sees her smile seductively with a raised brow, "No! Not t-that way...I meant, err, let me explain," Dax coughs. "He's been getting a lot of calls in recently from some mad-scientists and the like that want to rule the world or something of the such all for a skillful henchman that can hold their own in a fight. He, having heard a lot about your exploits from his underworld connections, asked me to contact you, knowing that we've met before," he motions with his right hand towards himself. "And so here I am, having called you to the _'Le Domaine de la Meme Epoque' _so I can proposition this contract to you."

"There's some requirements before you can start signing, but it's just basically interviews with the prospective clients," he drinks the last remnants of his liquor and slams the glass onto the ledge. His jaw still sore he rubs it, while adjusting his gaze back onto Shego. "He's in town for the month, so if you're interested..."

With her priorities set as to eventually come to such a career shift, it's no surprise to herself when she doesn't hesitate with her answer.

"I'm in."

----------

Author's Note on Numerology:

I'm kidding. It has nothing to do with numerology. I'm bringing this story back from its long journey in the dead because of the multiple failed attempts at creating another Kim Possible fiction based on Shego. I tried, but all I did during those times was make the same plot but with less substance.

This time I've broken the first chapter into two, but expect lengthy from this point on.

To help with understanding the setting, the story is during the time the episode "Tick Tick Tick" would normally happen. However, for simplicities sake, I made it so Kim Possible is already acquainted with Drakken and that's pretty much the reason why I've had to make this an AU.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: This show and its characters don't belong to me.

_**Violence (graphic), Mature Situations, Vulgar Language. Rated M.**_

**Between Scylla and Charybdis**

_By: Triberre_

_Momentary meetings with strangers._

**Dear Present, Chance Meeting**

Green and black feet penetrate a dark abyss. Dainty, insignificant in comparison to the surrounding pitch black, their movements are practically controlled, harmoniously attuned to the adjacent opposites descending motion in a perfect ballet of synchrony. Touching down onto the ventilation ducts metal plating, they create an effective counterbalance for steadying the lowering figures weight.

It coils its torso around the shafts entranceway, twisting the upper body slightly in order to grant itself more comfortable spacing between its hands for increased support and maneuverability. Fingers grip the edge with crushing force, but make no sound as shoulders press themselves gently against the vertical ducting, further increasing support as the figure initializes its lower body's movement into the cool, lightless tunnel below. With the two limbs shifted into the correct positioning, the forms upper frame, wrapped in raven strands of lengthy hair, releases the pressure being delicately exerted onto the surrounding metal plating and gingerly descends into the inky blackness.

No sound is made as the digits extricate themselves from the thresholds curb and after the figure is engulfed by the pitch black depths.

Nothing more can be seen in the passageway other than a quick, green flicker and then fading glow.

----------

Shego walks in.

Drakken screams.

She rolls her eyes. Hers is the sudden growing belief that the true face of the world's most devious, underhanded, cunning and scheming masterminds is nothing more than a whimpering, fidgety, garrulous and, of all things, _sensitive_ mama's boy. That odd thought pattern brings up some small wonders for her because for all she could know now, after having all of her disillusioned fantasies crushed into fecal matter, he _could actually_ still keep in touch with his mother. Her actually considering the possibility that a villain who has numerously attempted to conquer the planet still having a need for his mother, just shows how much her standards for the super villain hierarchy has dropped, as well as her respect for them.

Though, maybe she should have expected as much with them being insane enough to try overtaking the world in the first place.

He blinks at the pale woman standing at the entrance to his laboratory. She taps her foot impatiently and the sound is enough to unscramble his mind momentarily. "Oh, it's, uhh...just you Shego," he states lamely. His is the growing belief that it's going to become necessary to get used to seeing a female inside his base outside of Kim Possible. The fact that she's the former lone super heroine of Go City now turned thief and finally criminal bodyguard/co-conspirator for him and his dastardly plans of world conquest isn't exactly helping him believe the reality lobe of his brain.

Shego stares at her employer and sighs. He's been standing there like a statue for ten seconds longer than she would like. "Doctor D, wake up!" she yells from her perch at the arching door frame leading into the laboratory.

Drakken stiffens, paling slightly at the uncanny resemblance and insinuating deja vu, but soon relaxes when he remembers who it actually is standing in the middle of his base within attack range but not attacking. It's his new bodyguard, his spy, his agent, hireling and hench...woman. Really needing to get accustomed indeed.

"Oh right, did you get it?"

She waves her hand, "I got it, I got it." And then walks over to the table the blue skinned scientist stationed himself at, passing on the disk she stole to him. "Don't know why you want it, but I got it."

He responds by grabbing it forcefully out of her hands. "My plan will reveal itself in due course Shego..."

She just sighs as the formerly snarling and possibly even threatening expression breaks out into a glossy eyed, kid-in-a-candy-store vibe as he gloats, all the while playing with the disk like a child. "Whatever you say, Dr. D."

----------

A lithe figure carefully feels its way through the dark ventilation duct. Even with the green tinted glow illuminating the path (the one that even allows it to become possible to use the metallic shafting as an infiltration route), the tunnel being large enough to make the figure unable to see all of the path at once prevents any use of quick motions.

Its chest oscillates while it opens its mouth intentionally, controlling the following inaudible breath as the forward motions persist.

The form eventually comes to a rest over a metal grating leading into a large, equally dark room. Silently, it's right hand moves closer to the square's top most corner as the other hand pushes its fingers through the flaps in the air passageway for the possible event of the screen loosening without consent. Soon after barely a flicker of concentration from the figure, the right hands index finger lights up in a brilliantly green glow; it stretches the digit for a moment to calm down any trembling after the elongated pause to tense and position the rest of its form.. Taking a calming breath, the form slowly and gently pushes the digit into the corner...and barely suppresses a flinch that would have alerted anyone in the vicinity to it's presence when the improvised cutting tool discharges an unexpected searing sound. _What the hell? Tin foil?_

Unused to such base, but surprisingly effective methods for repressing stealth infiltration even after penetrating some higher class security facilities, the figure feels it's irritation spark at how needlessly tedious the operation just became. But, the interest it holds in the mission doesn't wane. It has never been one known to ever do things half way, and even if that wasn't the case, its curiosity has never been driven to the point of taking action like it is now. That has to stand for something from its point of view.

Besides.

Shego _craves_ challenges.

----------

Her eyelids are heavy, muscle cramps blanket her body as bruises clustered around her forearms and shins restrict chances for any decent traveling speed. Unwanted exhaustion filters through the quickly dissipating adrenaline shield, while perspiration traces her grim, tightly jut jawline. No one would even notice it for far more attention would be given to the lengthy, bleeding lacerations arrayed haphazardly across her body.

Shego staggers, beaten legs carrying her into the confines of an alleyway, drearier than normal with the added opaque coating of the night sky. Positive that her figure is completely covered in shadows, she collapses against the cement structure surrounding the thin, veiled passageway, unable to steady her sore body with her own strength any longer.

Ignoring her inflamed lungs, a ragged breath tears itself from her throat. _What...the...fuck!_

This was not the first time Shego had found herself inexplicably in an hour long chase, with her as the mouse. The chances for any target of hers having any number of unaccountable defenses that, evidently, would raise awareness to the crisis she being caused by her always varied drastically from her targets, be it agency to bank, vise versa and so forth. This had tapered off eventually, with the growth of her experience and skill, but it still happened, albeit rarely. The predicament she was in now, however, had nothing to do with breaking and entering.

Clawed gloves are taken off as she lurches, still unable to keep proper balance, and soon lowers herself to the cement floor against the ashen wall with the guidance of her bare hands. Her breathing still raw and coarse, Shego wearily eyes the multitudes of wounds littering the bottom half of her body, oozing the thick, slightly green tinted red life blood. Then she pockets the gloves in her ankle pouch.

She should have been expecting Global Justice to be watching. Who else would suddenly send an agent out to an island in the middle of nowhere after a respected scientist has the schematics to a lifelong work of his stolen? They weren't an unknown judicatory faction to any criminal worth his or her salt. With all of the agents spread across the planet and the sheer mass _quantity _of them around, they were a force to be reckoned with even by a military powers standard.

A pulsating sensation in her throat forces her to part her lips, and a groan reverberates. She feels like shit right now. Back sore, legs unable to support weight anymore, upper body muscles over extended. Not to mention the physical exhaustion now setting in….it's all making her feel like she just tangoed with a rhinoceros.

Her head rolls limply, swiveling forward lazily, making itself fall into a loose hanging position framed with ebony locks. She coughs roughly after an irregular, hacking breath and glares. She needs to find a place she can stay the night. Grimy alleyways and chance for hypothermia aside, her hair was a _mess_. Her hair does not stay messy. Ever.

The conviction she holds on the matter doesn't reach her strained limbs, however.

Groaning with the realization she would need to wait, she thrashes her head around pathetically. _This is Not how I wanted to spend my first real day on the job, _she thinks despairingly. Waiting for her injuries to heal to a tolerable point wouldn't take long of course with her keen acumen on suffering and enhanced healing capabilities–Shego understands pain. How to dish it out, how to take it, how to ignore it...right now it was more of the fact that she _was_ in this much pain that it hit her, and the impact was more of a surprised wonderment than a bruised indignation. The irritation was there, but the more she thought back on it, the more...the more...well, the more of _something_ she felt. In the end, though, she knew the reasoning was because someone actually stood _up_ to her on a leveled playing field.

Kim Possible could fight her evenly, and, conceivably, could maybe even win.

_Yeah, right. Like That's ever going to happen, _she thinks, usual boasting in place. However, Shego's interest has already been piqued the second that revelation processed. Her rarely touched intrigue has been drawn, an intrigue outdoing the normal curiosity she characterizes with by miles.

She has been ordained as a _'Devil's Fruit', _one that should never be approached. Tantalizing to the eyes, tempting to the touch, but never to be actively pursued. A woman whose proven her worth dozens of times over as a thief, as a combatant, as a mercenary, as an efficacious business woman and a connoisseur in the villainy branch. She's one that captures attention with more than just her figure. Her employers love her, she's stolen them jewels, blackmail material, money, and multitudes of varying items. Her rivals hate her, she's taken their contracts, their jobs, and any chances they have of being hired, away. The villains beg for her, for her help, her services, her loyalty and allegiance. Her counterparts–law and justice—they want her in jail, out of their way, it's why she's been ruled as the most wanted woman in the world. And along with all of these accomplishment Her list of truly _challenging_ challenges has dwindled to almost nothing. She has humiliated those she's wanted to, she has conquered systems, facilities, maximum security prisons and banks with the latest in protection. People she's previously called equals in combat are nothing to her now.

She _has_ become the best. Been told so, too. The title was one she flaunted, but it had made her life grow increasingly flat, repetitious, stale...it had built it into a routine. A routine with nothing that kept her boredom at bay, leaving her unsatisfied and...well, _bored._

There wasn't much _difficult_ for her anymore.

Now, though...

She winces. _Grr...fucking bullet wounds._ Shego's temper flares and she roughly pushes herself up, suppressing all of the groans and moans her body tries forcing her mouth to enact. Her body wants more rest. She wants something else.

Shego hobbles upwards, supporting her still unsteady legs with the wall behind her. In her mind, she's already planning out the course of actions she'll be taking after making her way to safety. Her contract already binds her into freeing Doctor Drakken from his current imprisonment, yet other than that there wasn't much she would need to do outside of the usual precautions after a sullied heist or dirty getaway. Global Justice wouldn't linger around for long anyways. _A half day of hiding, getting a little something to drink, maybe buy a magazine...yep, every thing's going to be a piece of cake._

She smirks. Shego steadily fastens herself against the alleyway entrances corner, detaching herself from the weariness she's feeling and checks, double checks, then triple checks the darkened surroundings for agents that might be stalking up and down the quiet suburbia. Fixing her torn, blood soaked leotard, she quietly sneaks her way through the empty streets.

Her path set, she knows her destination.

Shadow's eclipse her.

----------

Successive anxious breaths are drawn as a glowing hand pushes forward through the obscuring darkness and grips the knob.

Shego sighs, taking a small step toward the goal she has been aiming for since entering the building. Wringing her fingers around the handle, ever so gently as to not wake up the being she knows is lying on the other side of the barrier, she slowly slides her other hand against the edge of the door. Nodding in self affirmation, she gently twists and pulls open the entranceway.

She slips in through the thin opening she makes and closes the door behind her. Crouching down in order to lower her center of gravity and the body weight exerted onto the wooden floorboards, she moves a step into the room. All of this is done quickly, quietly and time efficiently. Like she's always done.

Concentration is center point when she closes her eyes, reaches deep inside of herself and searches for the feeling that's always been there. She finds it and pulls. A flicker, she blinks, her eyes glow. Meticulously, she analyzes the living quarters around her with the temporarily augmented vision, memorizing any obstructions size and position, examining for any signs of the same security she encountered outside the window to the room, and setting the best pathway she could for the goal. Knowledge of the room set in mind, she powers down her orbs.

Shego's body rearranges, opening up into a wider crouching stance for better equilibrium and she cautiously prowls over to the bedside. To this escapades ambition.

Green eyes spot the figure laying underneath the covers.

Her lips curl into a satisfied smirk as her body lengthens from its crouch into a domineering pose over the furnishing, or more precisely, the form lying upon it. _I beat your house Possible, _she thinks as a reminder to herself more so than as a silent gloat to her new adversary. She skirts her hand across the cottony covers and her fingers tingle with the fleecy texture to it. She never had gotten on thinking what she would do when the finally destination would be reached. Should she kill her? _No._ The answer comes unsurprisingly quickly to Shego, even when she considers who it is she's staring at, and who she's working for currently. She's a thief, not an assassin. Besides it's not in the contract.

She hesitates only momentarily, before running a pale green finger through a red mane. Should she drug her so she would never get in her employers way again? It takes a while longer for this one, but the answer remains firm in mind. _No. _She wonders whether she should just go along with the plan she had devised earlier. To her, it was by far the most rewarding and she needed to do little outside of _having fun,_ but...she's getting that feeling again.

She hates that feeling more than anything else.

Shego suddenly feels herself become very anxious. The cold, dead, creeping feeling was rippling itself across her spine as she stares longer down at the serene face jutting out of the woolly covers. Simultaneously, it occurs to her the longer her olive orbs pass over the young face, younger than her own, that she's being ridiculous. She has always fancied herself a realist, one that often relied on gut feelings, but a realist nonetheless. This mindset eventually wins over the childlike fear she was feeling of the ominous unknown, and she ponders on what she was thinking believing the stupid instinct, she has always actually _liked_ the unknown, what's the problem with the unknown? _Pfft. Get a grip on yourself..._

Smirking again, she detaches her hand from the silky red mane and caresses the face so alike to her own from the past gently. She tosses the previous thoughts away, instead choosing to stare at a person that's left her intrigued, a person that only days ago was able to match fisticuffs (_if only because I was playing around_, she adds) with her, something that hasn't happened at all for the past year. Shego had to admit, it was a rush thats been missing and there was something...something else there, that she just couldn't see.

Before she can think more, the red haired figure orients herself, moaning slightly as a cuddle buddy is pulled close. Shego almost laughs, but restrains herself, settling for a condescending smile in its stead. Already, she knows that this girl is going to be fun to mess around with, her entire countenance is screaming 'Anny' to her. _A little girl that'll do anything to impress, anything to fit in, anything so she can be called a good girl and have all her friends and family laugh and hug and sing the fucking Kumbayaa, _her vacant stare turns into a heated glare as these thoughts consummate.

_I think it's time_, she decides, scowling, _that I left. But first..._A peck. "I'm going to say this now Pumpkin. We're going to be having a _lot_ of fun when we meet again."

Shego smiles, as she lifts her features from Kim Possible's. It's not a smile of happiness, or a gesture that shows appreciation, peace of mind, or love, not even mild like. It's a cruel smile in many ways, and she knows this. The smile is one that harbors hatred, conceals obscene amusement, and holds a promise to another, far more serene visage, which has yet to confirm and utter a _yes._

It's the promise for pain, for battles and combat, disdain yet respect.

The promise of a challenge.


End file.
